


You're the second thing I ever loved

by carolion



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, Face-Fucking, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick has always been gifted at hockey. He's also pretty naturally gifted at <i>Jonny</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the second thing I ever loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aohatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/gifts).



> Hello fandom, I come bearing porn. I'm pretty rusty, but I hope this isn't too bad. For [aohatsu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/) because yesterday was her birthday and it's been way too long since I've written her something filthy. 
> 
> Thanks to [oriharakaoru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oriharakaoru) for the speedy and efficient beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Kissing Jonny is easy. It's just so easy to lean into him and press their mouths together, tilting his chin up to meet him at the right angle, curving his arm around Jonny's back to fist his hand in Jonny's stupidly snug t-shirt. It's easy the way hockey is easy, like stepping out on the ice and gliding off, like snapping a pass across the rink to land neatly on someone's tape. Patrick's not too modest about his game - he works hard to get better, sure, but there are some things that can't be taught, and all those things are the things that feel natural to him, that feel effortless. It's the same with kissing Jonny. No one taught him how to tilt his face to match perfectly with Jonny's, or how to scrape his nails in just the right soft spots to get Jonny's breath to hitch. It all came easily, from the very start, and only gets better the more they do this.

Patrick loves the way Jon's hands come up to bracket his face, how he can feel that 'Tazer-laser' focused solely on him, and the deliberate way Jonny moves them, as bossy and controlling here as he is on the ice. It should annoy him, maybe, but all he can do is gasp out breathy laughter between kisses, unrepentantly joyful in the face of Jon's impatient noises and insistent touches that constantly bring their mouths together again.

If every other aspect of Patrick's life is fast, this is where he likes to take his time. Once he has Jon in this position, pulled away from the outside world and into the space where only they exist, it's so easy to slow it down, gentle his kisses and draw things out. It drives Jonny absolutely fucking _crazy_ , and Pat can't deny that's part of the appeal, getting Jonny to that frame of mind where he's whining and pushing, still trying to be bossy but totally out of control. It fills Patrick with a sort of righteous power, gives him the confidence to steer Jon towards the bed and yank none-too-subtly on his shirt until they're both sitting on the edge of the mattress, still making out lazily despite Jonny's needy groans. Jon's hands have slid from his jaw to his shoulder and the back of his skull, respectively, his left hand curling fingers into Pat's hair, just holding him there.

"What do you want?" Jonny asks, pulling back. Patrick inhales, reveling in the raspy quality to Jon's voice, the way he already sounds strained and deliberate.

He doesn't have to say anything, it seems, because Jon's eyes narrow a little as he slides the hand that had been resting on Patrick's shoulder up a little to grip his neck, and digs his thumb and forefinger into the knotted muscle there. Patrick rewards him with a truly gratified moan, letting his head fall forward until his forehead is resting on Jon's own shoulder. Jonny always knows exactly what he needs.

Jon laughs, a little huff of air.

"You are so ridiculously easy, you know that?" He says, but it sounds fond, and all Patrick can think is _No, you're easy, this is easy_ before Jonny is pushing him up the bed, maneuvering him flat onto his belly.

He sighs and marvels at the sudden flip, how the momentum had swung from his favor to Jonny's, as Jonny's hands find the edge of his shirt and slowly push it up his back and over his head, flinging it to the side. Jon settles on his thighs, knees on either side of Patrick and he can feel how careful Jonny is being, balancing so his weight isn't smothering him.

Patrick grunts - partly out of annoyance, and partly because Jon's hands are big and warm and strong, and stroking up his tight back.

"Fuck you, I won't break," he complains, though it's mostly just out of habit.

"Yeah, yeah," Jon says back, and Patrick can tell from his tone that he's probably rolling his eyes.

It doesn't matter though, because Jon's knuckles have started to dig into his back, kneading carefully and skillfully, and it's so fucking good that Patrick can't do much more than stretch luxuriously under his touch and make an obscene noise of pleasure. Jon knows exactly where to push, how hard to press his fingers into Patrick's knotted muscles, and where to ease off, stroking the long expanse of skin soothingly.

It's weird, but Patrick loves doing this with Jon, touching each other's bodies in this intimate way _without_ the sex. He feels safe under the comforting weight of him, cradled in his strong hands, and trusts him enough to take care of his body's aches and pains. There's no way Patrick would trust anyone else who wasn't an athletic trainer or physical therapist to do this, to push and prod him and hurt him a little, sometimes. It'd be so fucking easy to tie up his back even worse, to abuse his muscles in the wrong way or touch a nerve the way it shouldn't be touched and debilitate him, but he and Jonny have spent so long paying attention to their bodies, taking care of themselves and listening to trainers that they _know_ what they're doing, and they treat their bodies with utmost reverence and respect.

That's probably why Patrick likes having sex with him so much. Or one reason, anyway.

Jonny's hands have slowed in their intensity, shifting to the sides of Patrick's body, bumping over his ribs with enough pressure to not be ticklish, though his touch leaves goosebumps on Patrick's skin as he leans down and starts to kiss along his shoulders.

"You good?" Jon asks against his skin, rubbing his mouth along the slope of Patrick's shoulder blade. It's an embarrassingly tender gesture, and Patrick catches himself before he lets out an equally embarrassing breathy noise in return.

He flexes and rolls his shoulders experimentally, feeling languid and loose.

"Yeah," he says, and fuck, he sounds blissed out already. "Yeah I'm good."

Jon nuzzles into his back once more and then stretches his body out above Pat's, covering him completely and pressing soft, wet kisses into the back of his neck.

"You sap," Patrick laughs, but it's starting to feel good, good in the sexy way, especially how Jon is canting his hips into Patrick's ass, slow and unhurried. He's fucking heavy, but that feels good too, the weight and the warmth of Jon's body holding him down and anchoring him, letting him relax and let go and just _feel_.

They both still have pants on, and Jonny still has his shirt on, and even though Patrick is getting turned on being held like this with Jonny's mouth wet and hot on his neck and Jonny's fingers wrapped around his wrists, he's impatient too, wanting and ready to feel skin on skin, get his own mouth on some part of Jonny's body - he's not really picky about what part.

He grunts and shifts backwards, pushing up with his hips and back from his elbows, whining when Jonny's body barely moves.

"Come _on_ ," he says petulantly, shifting obnoxiously, "let me roll over, I want to touch you, you giant douchebag."

"Sweet talker," Jon sighs, but kneels up obediently and hovers, helping Patrick roll over underneath him with a guiding hand on his hip.

When he's flipped onto his back, Patrick takes a minute to enjoy the view, staring lazily up at his Captain, who stares back steadily, one hand rubbing filthily over his hardening cock. It's a damn good view, but it'd be even better if Jonny were naked.

"Tease," Pat snaps back, and reaches up to tug impatiently at Jon's belt loops, pouting a little. "Take off your clothes; I wanna suck your cock."

"Jesus, Kaner," Jon says, closing his eyes a little. He does what Patrick asks though, yanking his t-shirt up and off to go join wherever he'd thrown Pat's shirt on the floor. His hands drop to his pants, unbuttoning the fly and pushing them down so Patrick can see the bulge in his boxers, the thick line of his cock against the fabric. It makes his heart leap into his throat and his own cock thicken up, excited just by the sight of it, the thought of sucking it down.

"Wait-" he manages, lifting a hand to stop Jon when he shifts to pull his pants all the way down and off, "-c'mere."

He scoots up the bed until he's half way upright against the headboard, and grabs at Jonny's ass, pulling him close until Jonny is kneeling over his chest, pants only half way down his legs and straining over his enormous thighs.

Patrick looks up at Jon through his lashes, grinning a little bit like a shithead, he knows, but he has a _plan_ okay, he knows how he wants this to go.

"You're gonna fuck my mouth like this," he says, squeezing Jon's ass encouragingly, and nuzzling his face into where Jonny's cock is tenting his boxer-briefs. "Okay? Just like this. I'm just gonna suck your dick down with your pants still on and you're gonna pin me to this headboard until my throat is raw, you got me?"

He looks up deliberately as he opens his mouth to suck a wet patch over Jonny's underwear, moaning as his saliva soaks the fabric and he traces the line of Jonny's dick with his lips.

"Fuck, _Patrick_ ," Jonny hisses, hands braced on the wall above him. "Yeah, fucking - do that, suck me, you and your goddamn filthy mouth."

Patrick can't stop grinning, even though it's probably not that sexy, and reaches up to drag Jon's underwear down past his hips and cock and past that first fat curve of his thighs until they're bunched down near his pants, and Pat has all the access he needs.

"Yeah, baby," he says in a low voice, and starts to laugh at his own cheesiness.

Jon groans. "You're so fucking embarrassing," he says, pointing out the obvious. Patrick doesn't even care, just uses one hand to grip the base of Jon's dick firmly and aim it squarely at his mouth.

"You love it," he breathes, lidding his eyes in anticipation as he licks his lips. Then he opens up and sucks him down, wrapping his mouth around Jonny's length with some skill and a whole lot of enthusiasm.

The noise Jonny makes gives Patrick chills, straight down his spine and through to his dick. He groans and sucks a little harder, opening up his throat and making it sloppier, wetter as he bobs his head forward and back. Like warming up, like stretching, he thinks to himself, as he twists his hand lazily around the base and works his tongue messily. Jon is breathing a little harder above him, but his hips are still, and neither of his hands have dropped to touch Patrick's head so he knows he has to work a little harder. He wants Jonny to lose his mind, to be begging to fuck Patrick's throat by the end of it, to be a shaky mess. Just the thought fills him up with renewed determination, and he goes down harder, eyelids fluttering as he blocks everything out and focuses on the cock in his mouth.

He fucking loves this, loves sucking Jonny's dick. It makes him feel powerful and full, and weirdly, like he's taking care of Jonny. He'd never admit this out loud, but he feels like no one else is worth this pleasure, this privilege. No one else should see Jonny shake and sweat and swear like this, no one else but Patrick, because Patrick knows how to take care of him and no one else would do it good enough.

He's lost himself to the rhythm now, breathing steadily through his nose as he sinks his mouth further down Jon's cock, until his nose is brushing the ring of his fist and he's swallowing regularly, gulping down excess saliva and pre-cum, working his throat as well as he can. Patrick tunes back in to reality briefly, a little dazed, and can hear Jonny whimpering, his right hand resting heavily on the top of Pat's head now, fingers shakily carding through his hair.

"So good," he's saying, "so fucking good, God, Kaner, nobody - nobody comes close, just you, just you."

He's babbling a little, nonsense sentences that make Patrick's heart clench up in his chest. He's fiercely glad that no one comes close, that he's _it_ for Jonny, because even if he hasn't said it out loud, he wants to be _it_ for a long time, maybe for forever.

Pat pulls off, panting heavily and his jaw aching. He thinks he's drooling a little but whatever - sucking cock isn't exactly elegant.

"Ready?" he rasps, his voice fucked out. He's going to get so much shit in the room after tonight, just for how he sounds, but it will be worth it, so worth it to give it all up for Jonny, for this.

Jonny stares down at him, eyes dark and intense and maybe a little wild, on edge. Patrick feels his stomach flip over at that look, shivering from the inside out because when Jonathan looks at him like that, Patrick swears he can read his mind.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and both hands come down now, stroking along Pat's face and cupping his jaw, his thumb stroking at his side burns softly, tenderly. Pat can't handle it. He needs the roughness right now, not this gentle touch or he's going to say something dangerous, something serious, and break the easiness that they've always had.

"C'mon Tazer," Patrick says instead, licking and biting his bottom lip invitingly, a little slutty. "Fuck my mouth. Shut me up like I know you always want to."

Jonny makes a noise like a growl, and shoves his hips forward just as Patrick opens up his mouth, and it's like a gift, swallowing it down as Jonny holds his head. He never feels more worthy than when Jonny is using him like this, like he's useful. It feels the same way on the ice, even though he bitches and complains, he loves having Jon as a captain, loves breaking down the plays with him and being useful to him, making him proud, making him _happy_. Patrick groans a little in realization - _he's so fucked_ \- but he's known he's felt like this for a while, has known he's been stupid about Jonny for a long time.

Jonny swears softly, saying something incomprehensible and thrusts roughly, shoving his length further down Patrick's throat. It feels like heaven, thick and insistent, almost choking. Patrick knows he's drooling now, couldn't stop it if he wanted to, but Jonny likes it, loves the sloppy mess he becomes, how red and swollen his lips get, how wet and shiny his chin becomes. He encourages a faster pace by digging his fingers into Jon's ass, pulling him back and forth and swallowing rapidly, working his throat over the very tip of Jon's cock even though it feels like he can't breathe, feels like his eyes are watering and the pace is almost - almost too much.

"Fuck!" Jonny swears desperately, and his hips jerk shallowly, giving Patrick a moment to gasp around him, sucking in oxygen while he can. It burns, and his throat is screaming, but he isn't done yet so he yanks Jonny closer and buries his face close to Jonny's stomach, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing.

Jonny shakes, moaning, and suddenly Patrick is swallowing cum, a little bitter and slicker than spit, and it slides down his throat in a satisfying way, like a job well down.

Jonny doesn't pull out so much as he quivers and almost falls backwards, his thighs shaking with - adrenaline, maybe, exhaustion, Patrick doesn't know. He feels fucked out and blissful, heaving breaths into his bruised throat, and it feels tight and used and so fucking good that he shivers, convulsing, as Jonny rocks back on his lap and presses on his own erection.

"God," he croaks, and Jesus, his own voice is turning him on as rough and used as it sounds. His hips jerk uselessly against the weight of Jonny, but it feels good, grinding up against his ass and he could come like this, still in his pants and barely touched, so close to the edge.

Jon gazes blearily at him for a moment, a Patrick preens under the dazed look, unbearably proud of the fact that he can get his Captain, Captain So-Called Serious to look like that, stupid and fucked out. But the Jonny seems to wake up, and shifts, realizing that he's sitting on Patrick's yet untouched erection.

"You're unbe-fucking-lievable," Jonny says seriously, and surges forward to crush his mouth against Patrick's, kissing him like he's trying to fuck his mouth open, sloppy and dirty and absolutely not fair. He rocks his ass back deliberately, riding Pat's lap like fucking pro, and Patrick can't take it, whimpering and whining into the kiss and humping up desperately, out of control.

"Jonny please, oh my god, please, please," he begs, and Jonny grinds down, kissing him fiercely, and that's all it takes, he's gone, seeing white and collapsing forward as he comes, like a fucking teenager, in his pants.

Easy, he thinks hazily, as Jon drags them both down to a horizontal position on the bed, still kissing him but gentler now. Easy like skating, like hockey, like seeing the pass across the ice, straight onto someone else's tape. Easy, but Jonny has one hand on the back of his neck, holding him close as they trade calming breaths and tender kisses, and Patrick stares at the sweep of his eyelashes, the flush across his cheeks. So fucking easy, he thinks miserably, but he had to go and fuck it up, complicate it, by falling in love. Never quite so easy again.


End file.
